Dear Granger,
by Schermionie
Summary: Soon after Dumbledore's death, Draco sends Hermione a letter. DISCONTINUED. Kept up for laughs and for all the people who supported me while I wrote it.
1. Dear Granger,

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Harry Potter or the song Listen to your heart by DHT, which I have used a few lines from.

**Chapter 1- Dear Granger,**

Smooth, unmarked parchment lies before me, mocking my efforts. How do I start? How do you begin a letter to an enemy? _Dear Granger? _No: too cordial, too polite. _Mudblood, I'm writing to tell you… _No again, I don't even know what I'm writing to her for. Hmmm, _To Frizzhead _sounds promising, but I doubt she'd be particularly insulted by it.

Sighing, realizing that I should just give up this stupid letter all together, I go to blow out the flickering candle I am using to work by. This is pointless. Why don't I want to write a letter to Scarhead or the Weasel? Why her?

It's no use. I have to write this or I'll go insane. I detest her but-

"_No buts, boy," Lucius admonished his son sternly. "Do as I say."_

"_Father! I don't want to wear these robes! Oh, please, can't I wear the new ones I purchased from Diagon Alley yesterday?"_

_Lucius sneered, his disgust at Draco's words evident from his expression. "How many times must I tell you? Don't plead, Draco, it's unseemly and unbecoming for a Pureblood, especially of your status. Only filthy, contaminated Mudbloods beg and I will not have it in my House. Do you understand?"_

_Draco, full of indignation at his father's insulting words, stayed silent._

"_Put the robes on, now! And, for _Crucio's _sake, stop sulking. Get rid of that disrespective attitude. You will not humiliate the Malfoy name!" so saying, Lucius flung the aforementioned robes at Draco and turned to leave._

"_And what if I say no, father?" Draco hollered at his father's retreating, straight back. "I don't wish to wear those fowl robes you have given me. I don't want to do what you say. I don't want to go to this stupid dinner!" _

_Lucius turned slowly, his menacing face looming over his nine year old son. He was livid at the boy's insubordination but his features showed no outward signs of rage. This was what frightened Draco the most, especially when his father made to raise his wand. _

"_Draco, in no way am I prepared to tolerate such misconduct. You shall see the errors of endeavoring to defy me in this matter," Lucius said, his voice leaving no room for argument. Not that Draco would have attempted such a thing at that stage._

_Lucius made a slashing movement with his wand and Draco fell to the ground painfully…_

Snapping out of my reverie, I realize that my hands have traitorously composed the letter while my thoughts have been elsewhere. Scowling confusedly at the words I have unwittingly written, I set the parchment to the side and retrieve a new piece. Paper is rare and precious to a Death Eater on the run and I need to save every last scrap, even though I may not have long to live. Still, it is hard to banish the nauseating letter which I subconsciously created from my mind and the inclination to obliterate it remains as strong as when I first perused the work.

It's getting lighter; my time is almost up. I need to finish my composition before He calls me.

Thinking of the Dark lord spurs me on and I settle down to write.

_How is everything now that your precious headmaster is dead? Are you coping? I know how you loved him so. No, I doubt you're OK at all. I hope not. _

_By now you may be wondering who I am. Who would decide to send you a letter such as this? And why? I can just see you, thick, bushy hair framing your confused face. Your hands are shaking. You've learnt to be nervous of any unexpected mail, haven't you Granger? Of course this letter has been approved by those fools in the Order of the Pheonix screening anything before it passes into your hands. I know you would have checked before opening any envelope, even one from your filthy parents. _

_Check again._

_Ahh, you're scared now aren't you? You're halfway to the door, wondering what to do. If you show it to someone then you'll risk looking like an idiot, but if you don't, well, who knows what could happen? _

_Poor, polluted, predictable Mudblood Granger._

_I can imagine you've figured it out? If you haven't, frizz head, then I'm disappointed in you. It means you're getting stupider. It probably started when Weasel actually managed to get a girlfriend: it must have come as such a shock to you, enough to lose a few IQ points anyway. It was most likely worse on Scarhead, though. He's always been obtuse._

_So, Granger? What do you do now? Torn between indecision, you pace up and down in your room. Draco Malfoy, one of the most sought after Death Eaters by your kind has decided to contact you! On the _right_ hand, you should tell everyone. Won't they be shocked! They'll instantly demand to see this! But what if I were to order you _not _to show them this letter? Would you believe me if I told you it would be worth your while not to?_

_You want to show them, but on the other hand (you know, the hand that Weasel has permanently marked with a huge 'L'? Yes, I saw that…) your curiosity is peaked._

_It was so enjoyable to terrorize you and your friends. That's why I'm sending you this letter. Dear Mudblood, I am writing to inform you that I hate you. _

_Sincerely, I am Not_

_X Draco Malfoy X _

_P.S. In this envelope you will find tissues. Give them to Potty for me. He's such a troubled young teen…_

Smirking at my finished piece I fish around for an envelope and place the parchment inside distractedly, my mind on the complex spells I shall have to perform on it to pass through theOrder's screening process unnoticed.

After assuring myself that the spells are functioning properly, I write _Hermione Granger _on the front of the envelope and call to my owl, Char, to deliver it. I know, of course, that I will not be sending any more letters after this, but there's no harm in lying to her.

I extinguish my quickly diminishing candle and hastily place the remaining papers in my pocket.

The Dark Lord is calling me.

000

"Oh, Ron, honestly, why do you have to eat like that?" Hermione asked, not for the first time, annoyed at Ron's messy eating habits.

Ron looked up innocently and Harry laughed. "Hermione, leave the poor boy alone. It's not his fault he's so greedy."

Hearing an insistent tap behind her, Hermione rose from the table where the trio were having breakfast and hastened towards the window where three owls were hovering nervously with their letters.

Three owls: one for each of them.

Harry, Ron, and Hermione removed their mail and flipped through to see anything important.

"'Mione, are you okay?" asked Ron, hearing Hermione squeak.

"I-it's a l-letter from my p-parents," Hermione stuttered worriedly.

"It's fine if you want to be alone, Hermione. If you need us we'll be right here," Harry smiled encouragingly and Hermione nodded gratefully, turning to walk up the stairs of the safe house they were currently residing in on their ongoing quest to find the Horcruxes.

Upon reaching her room, Hermione sighed miserably. To an outsider it may have seemed that everything was going well for the trio, but she knew better. Their cheerful exterior was all a charade. Their visit to Godric's Hollow had been a complete disaster; so far they had not located even one Horcrux; and their frantic searches for R.A.B. had been to no good. Every time they thought they had a clue they hit a dead end or fault. These failings had led to growing tension between her, Harry, and Ron. None of them knew how long it could continue like this.

And now, of all times, a letter from her parents. _Oh god I hope they're not in danger, _Hermione moaned out loud and finally worked up the courage to open her letter.

What she found, however, was definitely not a letter from her parents. She skimmed quickly through in order to work out its writer.

Dropping the letter as though it burned her, Hermione made a strange, flabbergasted sound and dropped shakily to the floor. She could barely stand up, let alone think. Why had he done it? It must have been to confuse her, mess with her mind. He'd always been such a git. And yet he sounded so sincere, so honest.

Having regained most of her strength, Hermione pulled herself up and read the letter once more, this time more slowly, thinking over each carefully crafted word for something other than the truth. She found none.

_Hermione, _

_I once asked my mother why she married my father. She said for me to always listen to my heart. I never did. Do you know why? I was afraid. Afraid to love, show kindness at all, so I started not to feel any of those emotions. _

_Now, with just a bit of time left before I am called to Him for probably the last time because of my failure to kill when needed, my deliberately pathetic attempts to commit cold-blooded murder, I can see what I've been missing all these years._

_Hogwarts was my little piece of heaven. I know that's clichéd and sounds stupid, but that's the truth. I was away from my dreary home and father's associates. I was as free as I have ever been, yet I still chose to act negatively towards others and make their lives difficult. I was and am an idiot. _

_I am alone and waiting to die, but now I'm free to listen to my mother's advice. I listen, listen the hardest I have ever listened and I hear your name, I see you whenever I close my eyes, and whenever I open them again you are there. _

_So I am sending you this letter to tell you: I love you, Hermione. I never realised before because I was closing myself off to love and emotion. I was told all my life to hate you, Hermione…I hope you can understand I'm not really like that. I'm not asking for forgiveness, for like, for love, or even acceptance. I am just asking you to read this and believe. When I die there will be one person, the person I love, who will know the regrets I hold regarding my life and the things I have done. _

_Yours forever,_

_Draco Malfoy. _

**A/N: **Please review! It would really make my day…


	2. Crucio

**Disclaimer:** I don't own anything Harry Potter. JKRowling does.

**A/N:** Hey there I was getting major writer's block so decided to start anew with this chapter. It's completely different. Please review!

* * *

**Chapter 2- Crucio**

"Malfoy…" the Dark Lord hisses to me as soon as I appear. "I'm so glad you could join us. For a time I thought you'd be too…cowardly to answer my call."

The hooded figures around me laugh and jeer. Still I prostrate myself at His feet and wait for the order to arise, to explain myself, perhaps. If I am lucky my death will come quickly.

"Stand up, boy, and look me in the eye," He orders and I obey, instantly, knowing that my fate is about to be decided.

Unwillingly, I raise my head and stare into his red, gleaming eyes.

"Now tell me what happened. Tell me how you went about your mission," he sneers cruelly.

Snape must have informed him of my progress and failure already so, even if I were a very accomplished Occlumens, I would not be able to hide from Him.

"When I first heard of my mission, I was overjoyed," I begin, hoping that my voice will not betray my fear. "Scared, of course, but honoured that My Lord would grant me such an important task.

"I knew my objectives and thought very carefully about how I would go about in completing them.

"I realised that if I could somehow let a group of Death Eaters into Hogwarts then not only would that provide a distraction for anyone who wished to get in our way but also cause enough chaos for me to find and kill Dumbledore."

"Did you not make any other attempts to achieve your aims?"

I swallow nervously. I think he knows I didn't--couldn't--try. But what can I say?

Silence. I still can't think up a reply.

I don't even hear the curse, neither do I hear my anguished screeching, my choked pleas for pity.

The only thing I can do is feel.

All over my body, ripping, tearing flesh, white hot, searing pain. I can feel my Lord's rage burning over my body, in my mind, my soul. Knives pierce my skin, mercilessly stabbing repeatedly into me. My head throbs, my back arches, my heart beats dangerously fast but I don't know any of these things now.

The suffering of my body is nothing compared to that of my mind.

I hear tortured screams. It is my mother screaming. I can see her before me, her pale, Pure features contorted, her hair matted over her sweaty face. Her fingers are crooked, her eyes bloodshot, her mouth caked with blood. She can barely stand.

Others join her, people I know from school and my childhood. I always thought that Potty, Weasel and Granger being tortured, in such a vulnerable state, would be a wonderful experience; in fact I had hoped to be the torturer. But their screams are ear-splitting, filling my head and I am horrified.

The pain returns, amplified, and this time I can hear my anguished cries join that of the others'. How long have I been under the curse? Does He mean to kill me?

Some believe that the Dark Lord and His Death Eaters have many diverse ways of torture. While this is true, these alternative methods are only used as minor levels of cruelty. The _cruciatus _curse is not illegal just for being Dark Magic. There is nothing more brutal. There is no other curse that attacks both the body and the mind so quickly; these methods have to be used repeatedly to gain the same effect as the _cruciatus_. No wonder its victims often go insane.

I feel the curse lifting, though my body still racks with pain and the screaming, while quieter, does not stop.

I can't move, can barely breathe… Why aren't I dead? Or am I?

_Find them. Find out what they're up to, and stop them. _A voice hisses to me and I know that this is my cue to leave. But I can't. _Apparating_ now would be suicide.

It is a long time before my pulse returns to normal, a longer time for me to be able to even move, and an eternity to_ apparate_ away. By this time, my Lord has gone, but his words still remain with me. _Find them._

Find who?

Potter. Must be.

But how can I get close to them? They wouldn't believe me if I told them the truth. Because it _is _true that I don't want to be a Death Eater. I'm not a murderer. And now that I know what torture does to people, how it feels, I don't want to cause anyone that kind of pain.

Granger might believe me. Potter can be swayed. Weasley's the problem.

How can I get to them? It should be simple enough to work out their location, but as for even beginning to approach them, I don't have a clue how to do that.

My body gives another post-_crucio _lurch and I let out a small shriek. How long will it continue like this?

I doubt walking up to them and saying "Hi!" will do it. I'll most likely be cursed again and they won't listen to me.

I'll have to make contact another way.

And I know exactly how. I'll send Granger another letter. I'll blather on about how terrible the _cruciatus_ curse was, plea for her help, ask for her forgiveness. It should soften her heart enough to let me in and give me a chance. Too bad I didn't send the love one I wrote. Then again, I should have it in my pocket…

Grabbing my cloak and rummaging around inside, I pull out every scrap of parchment and look through each of them.

I come to the last piece. It's not what I expected: I must have sent her the wrong note. Oh, Merlin, now Granger will have some silly little picture of a love-struck Draco Malfoy joining the light side and fighting for the right and all that shit. I don't want to be a Death Eater, but that doesn't mean I don't support the Dark Lord.

I don't love her. She's filth. But I don't know…I suppose if I ever were to fall for a Mudblood, or be in love at all, it would be with her. She's smart, intelligent, independent, strong, ambitious, beautiful…

The curse must still be in effect, or I would never have thought that. I banished these feelings years ago. She's. A. Mudblood. End of discussion. Final.

I shake my head, hoping to dislodge the weird thoughts that have invaded my mind. I have to get on with my mission: I'm sure the Dark Lord will not appreciate me if I fail.

So. The letter…Thank Merlin I sent the wrong one. I smirk, imaging her reaction to it.

I reach for another piece of parchment and settle down to write. This should be easy enough.


	3. Dear Hermione,

**Disclaimer- **I do not own Harry Potter. It all belongs to J.K.Rowling.

**Chapter 3- Dear Hermione,**

_Dear Hermione,_

Hermione smiled dreamily. She didn't know why, but she loved it when Draco used her first name. After just a few weeks of his letters, she had come to look forward to them.

_I know it's been a long time, and I'm sorry for that. I'm just so worried He'll find out about the one thing that keeps me going. The one thing that makes me smile, laugh, forget…_

_You._

_How are you? Gotten any further in your quest to conquer Weasley yet? Ron sounds totally clueless. Are you sure he's right? I just have this idea that you deserve better. Not that Ron's worthless or below you. From how you've portrayed him, he sounds like a great friend. But is he really boyfriend material?_

Hermione snorted. Draco certainly was right. Ron _was _clueless. So clueless, in fact, that she'd recently had doubts about her ideal happily ever after… Draco had helped her realise there were far superior specimens out there. Ron was her best friend after all…Would it even have a chance to work out, especially in their current circumstances?

_You've asked me this a few times, so I guess I should tell you. It's just so painful to relive and retell the past. I'm genuinely sorry for all the hurt I've caused. _

Her pulse quickening, Hermione wondered if he was finally going to address the question she most wanted to know the answer to. She read on with even more curiosity than on previous occasions.

_It is true, I was raised to hate. All non-Purebloods were, according to my family, scum. From a very young age all I can recall is abhorrence; bitter, burning loathing for most of the human race. My father was an extremely influential part of my life, but my mother also taught me prejudice. She whispered words of bigotry and I soaked it all in. I observed my parents' behaviour and emulated them. Cruelty was all I knew._

_That's not a valid excuse for my terrible conduct, but it is a veritable one._

_Why, then, did I not call you the foul words which I had been given as a child? Why in first year did I only tease you for your appearance and mannerisms? _

_I came to Hogwarts as a Slytherin, and I left as one. I am most certainly a Slytherin now. Ambitious, cunning, witty, these are my main traits. This does not make me evil or disloyal. I will just use my talents to my advantage. _

_That's what you do, Hermione, and that's how it started. My admiration for you, I mean. You're clever, aspiring, independent, smart, caring…these things and more. You're a powerful witch, but still you always strive to better yourself. You have often been dubbed as the brightest witch of your age, though you have not become carried away. Your feet are firmly on the ground. I look up to that._

_And that worried me. My respect for someone that I had always been instructed to despise tortured me. What could I do? Potter had already snubbed my offer of friendship and I admit that this was where my dislike of him originated, immature as it may seem. I had always believed that people like Harry were beneath me and was insulted when he did not abide by this rule. _

_In first year, my hostility was focused primarily on Harry. You and Ron were, by extension, my enemies, but not ones that I was particularly inclined to bother with. Ron was a blood traitor and you were a muggleborn, but with me and Harry it was personal. I didn't notice your qualities so much then. They only began to infuriate me so when you bested me in every class and grew on my mind. _

_So, in second year when I began to admire you, I fought an inner battle. I figured that I was beyond redemption in your eyes. Besides, if my father were to find out that I had sought you out, mentally or physically, I would be severely punished for going against his dominion over me. I am, as we both know, a coward. No, I decided. I could never approach you. But as all this was happening, my reverence of you became stronger…_

_Don't get me wrong, I was still an intolerant bastard. My prejudice regarding you increased ten fold. My theory was that if I offended you, tore you up, then every warm feeling that welled up inside me at the merest mention of your name or gentle echo of your voice, would vanish. I'd be free of the guilt that struck me whenever I made you cry. _

_That's why I called you a Mudblood, Hermione. I was a narrow-minded idiotic git whose only solution to his problems was to load them onto someone else. _

_It didn't work, of course. I suffered every minute of your distress. Now that I had said it, however, I could not take it back so I continued to torment you, thought up new insults, but it was there in the background. Everyday I saw something else I liked about you; it was endearing the way you repeatedly tucked your hair behind your ear, not matter how many times it would fall back again; the delicate way you eat; the way you would bite your lip whenever you were angry or upset; how you would always be so keen to answer questions and learn about the world around you, despite how may times I teased you. Most of all I admired how you stuck to your principals. To you, rules were always important. It should be in everybody's interests to work with the system, not against it. But you'd disregard all of that in the hoot of an owl for your friends. You're loyal, you're brave…_

_By now you will have worked out that I teased you about everything I liked in you. _

_After a year, it hadn't gone away, but I had locked it out of sight and thrown away the key. I ignored the pangs of envy I felt when you hugged Harry or Ron. Occasionally the longing would surface. It wasn't my respect for you that kept me terrorising you now. I bullied you because it was necessary. What would everyone think if I suddenly stopped outwardly abominating you? _

_It was only in fourth year that I acknowledged that it had gone far beyond the boundaries of admiration. _

_The Yule Ball. You glided in, the greatest seeker in the world on your arm, and I was taken aback. It wasn't as if I hadn't recognised your beauty before, but the bigot lurking inside my mind had refused to accept that I thought a Muggleborn attractive. Yet I couldn't deceive myself when you floated into the hall, the greatest seeker in the world on your arm, looking absolutely breath-taking. As shallow as it seems, this is when I began to fall in love._

_I confessed once before, and I say it again, I love you Hermione. It's simply that._

_I promptly mentally slapped myself and vowed to act even harsher to you. How, I thought, could I ever have let this happen? I was in complete denial, of course. I repeatedly scolded myself whenever I considered you in anything but a negative light. Besides, I reasoned, how, exactly, would I know if I were in love? It was crazy. I ignored it andbanished it to the back of my mind. _

_That's how it was. I closed myself off to love and all emotions except the hatred I had been force-fed as I grew up in a cold, dismal manor, and I have to say it didn't exactly do me any good. Look where I am now._

_That's another reason to love you I can add to my already overflowing list. You're forgiving. What could I do without these letters, Hermione? I don't ask for your love. I don't think I could even agree to take it if you offered. I doubt Ron is made for you, but I know I'm not. Such is fate. _

_We both live in a bleak world. You, fighting against all odds and I, fighting against myself. Will we win? _

_I don't want to end this letter on a bad note, so I won't. _

_As always,_

_Ferret._

_XXX_

_P.S. Is Potter still at it? Are you going to help him, or shall I come round to do it? Not that it'd be all that pleasant but…anything for the war effort, right? _

_Can't wait for your next letter. Your last one made me laugh. _

Hermione chuckled loudly at his postscript. She really wished she hadn't told him about her little bathroom encounter with Harry. He'd probably annoy her about it for ages now.

Prat.

Then she remembered how serious his letter had been. He sounded sincere, and, strangely enough, all that Draco had told her made sense, she was inclined to believe it.

Then there was _that. _That feeling of worry she'd get if he didn't write. That feeling of happiness when she read her name from his pen. The worst for her, though, was the thrill she received whenever he wrote to her. She savoured just looking at the envelope, wondering what was inside. Hermione lived for the anticipation of the mysterious content of his letters.

That's not to mention the way her heart beat faster whenever Draco told her he loved her, how her hands shook when he told her she was brave, how her thought became muddled when he highlighted her cleverness.

What was happening?

Well, that much was obvious. But what on earth could Hermione do about it? He'd said he didn't want it, he wasn't worthy of her feelings… But she _wanted _to feel this way. She wanted him. It was so, so complicated… no one would accept it. It was purely impossible. He was the enemy. That's what she always had to remind herself of whenever he made her giggle. But as his letters became even more personal, it was a struggle to separate the friend from the foe. It was just too difficult to work out Draco's feelings, or indeed her own.

It had happened, though. Harry and Ron knew nothing of her contact. They just wouldn't understand the need she felt to talk to Draco; they'd shun and abandon her.

So that was it.

Hermione decided to write her letter sooner than later. Best to get it out of the way. Besides, she really would have to do some research in a while. They hadn't found a thing yet.

_Dear Ferret,_

_Nope. My chances are still practically nil. You always did say he was dense, and while I stuck up for him because he was my friend, I privately agreed. _

_I'm just about ready to give up on him. _

_As for Harry, as you so subtly put, hell no._

_I. Don't. Like. Him. In. That. Way. _

_Satisfied? I can completely tell you're only checking…_

_Your last letter…I just don't know what to say, which is strange because: _

_a. I just did say something and_

_b. It's coming from me._

_It made sense, Draco, and that scares me. When did I start believing you? When did I start trusting you? When did I start lo-_

Hastily scrabbling around to hide the parchment littering the desk in the safe house she was currently staying at, Hermione tried to look innocent as Harry came rushing in.

Harry, however, was too busy taking a breath to notice her suspicious behaviour. Evidently, he had just run a long way.

"Hermione!" he panted excitedly. "Hermione… Oh, Merlin… We've found RAB!"


	4. Imperio

Disclaimer: Blah. Don't own it.

A/N: Thanks for all your reviews people! I'll need more though... Oh yes and I have a new rule. I'll only check out your fics if you review, not just fave or alert it. So HA. I live on reviews. Literally. Plus, if you have any ideas at all just tell me them...Thanks!

**Chapter 4- Imperio**

Feeding Char absent-mindedly, I rip open the letter he has delivered. The letter from Hermione. I've been looking forward to it. When I started this, I had no idea what would happen. I'm not sure if it's been good or bad…

At first it had been purely professional for me. I was detached, this was important business…But as time went by, especially in my last note, I found myself expressing all the feelings I'd never admitted, all the feelings that I'd convinced myself had never existed, flowing out onto the yellowing parchment and before I could even pressure myself to rewrite it, persuade myself that I was being pathetic, Char was a mere speck in the distance.

It was becoming too personal. Even Hermione had noticed. Despite this, we really had come to rely on and, on some levels, enjoy our correspondence. When I divulged my secrets, some part of me relished it. I have always despised emotion, seeing it as weakness. But my hatred for emotion was, in itself, emotion. If I cogitate about it, even the Dark Lord and his Death Eaters are feeble; they enjoy the pain of others. Pleasure requires emotion.

I think about it.

I address the fact that I don't want to be a Death Eater. Emotion is not so worthless.

I'm hungry.

I conclude, from the evidence above, that I should peruse her letter.

_Dear Ferret,_

_It's like the Imperious curse. Only the most skilled of wizards and witches are able to perform and struggle against it. You called me powerful, though, judging by my current state, I am not as remarkable as some seem to believe. I assure you I am nothing special._

_The witch who invented the Imperious spell couldn't fight it either. _

_You've used it on me, Draco, and I can't see through it. You also said that I was forgiving, which is true. They state that the Imperious is Unforgivable, but not to me. I can pardon _you_ for casting it on me._

_I'm scared too. Scared of myself; scared of you; scared of the past; scared of the present; scared of what the future holds. And the curse you placed upon me refuses to trouble me with my fear whenever I read your words, whenever you tell me you love me… That scares me. It leaves me confused and happy about it._

_I'm having problems organising my thoughts and concentrating on what really matters. You matter, Draco, I don't know why but you do. There seem to be more important things, however, for example Harry and Ron expect me to wash all their dirty underwear, I only got 99 per centin my last exam at Hogwarts, I haven't even read _Hogwarts; a history _for weeks. It's getting so bad. Oh, yeah…and I'm planning on saving the world, but that's not exactly high on my to do list. Just yesterday I forgot to feed Crookshanks because I was worrying about my hair! I've given up on Operation: Kidnap Ron, you'll be pleased to hear. You've made me realise that I _could _do better for a boyfriend. Besides, I bet he's a terrible kisser._

_I hear you're good._

I smirk triumphantly. She is so right. Not that I'd really know or anything. It's not like I've ever snogged myself…

_It made sense, all you told me. Perfect sense. I, well, I forgive you for that too. I forgive you for everything..._

_Stop it! I honestly wish I'd never recounted that little anecdote to you. It was far too embarrassing to see Harry... Well, yes. Just please don't mention it again, hmm?_

Yeah, right.

_That's all part of the curse, I suppose. I trust you. I do. I can no longer see you as my adversary, no longer see you as the git I once did. The clouds obscuring my brain, separating me from what people call reality, stop me from seeing. You've changed for the better. _

_You've told me your secrets, so now I'm going to foolishly return the favour and tell you ours. Mine, Ron's, and Harry's secret. I have faith in your credibility, Draco. It's a big risk, but war is all about risks, predominantly big ones. _

_Horcruxes. We're looking for Horcruxes. _Voldemort's _Horcruxes. There are seven of them... Merlin, Draco, I can't comprehend my reasoning behind all this, but I'm doing it anyway. Do you know what a Horcrux is? I presume you do. It's the darkest of magic, but from what you have eluded to prior to this letter, I gather that Dark Magic isa Malfoy speciality. That's a relief; I'd rather not describe them. But the Horcruxes are what we are furiously seeking, Draco, and the quest is perilous. We may not succeed, we may die. _

_Can you understand my current misgivings? Since I was eleven I reviled you, and I was not raised to hate. You are a Death Eater, free choice or no, a sworn enemy of my friends and I am calmly informing you of something that, if in the wrong hands, is incredibly dangerous. I may be clever, but everyone makes mistakes. There is, however, something inside me that insists that I must tell you everything before it is too late. Draco we need to remember that we are officially opponents. I will never expect you to join my side. You are, as you so blatantly put, a Slytherin through and through. I have already declared to you how precarious the balance between light and dark is. You are without a side. Don't deny it, Draco, I know you're not a killer, you're not a Death Eater but you don't want to put your life in such danger as to defy Voldemort. We share different principles. I don't know how informing you of the Light's hunt for the Horcruxes has benefited either of us, but once again I mention I have this feeling that it is imperative I tell you._

_Imperative. That's all part of the curse._

_We'll be moving on from where we are soon... Wherever we go, I hope your letters can still reach me. Like you, I feel a certain dependence on our messages. _

_But... I can't help but yearn for more, Draco. When you write I can only imagine your pale face, but sometimes that's not enough. I find myself distracted by shiny objects because they remind me of the sunlight flashing off your light hair as you soared through the air after the snitch. I can't help comparing Ron and Harry to you. Sometimes I curse their stupidity and wish for your cunning. Sometimes I look in their eyes and decide I prefer silver to gold. Sometimes I daydream. _

_OK, so it's more than sometimes. _

_I... I can't think of any way to stop it. I want to see you. I can't help it... we've been talking for so long and I've never been good at what Muggles call 'pen-palling'. I usually get impatient about it because I much prefer speaking to people face-to-face._

_Dare I say it? I've basically revealed it all already, but I'll write it as plain as I can._

_I like you._

_Honestly yours,_

_Hermione_

_XXX_

My breath catches in my throat and I hastily sit down, closing my eyes. Does she really mean she likes me _that way_? Or are her feelings towards me purely platonic? Not that I care…

Now I'm just being stupid. I care, I know I do, otherwise I would have gone straight to The Dark Lord as soon as she mentioned Horcruxes without even reading the rest of the letter. Am I going to tell Him? Of course. Can I tell Him? No. I can't betray her. Not now…

Life isn't fair. That sounds spoilt, but I'm not thinking of myself, I'm thinking of Hermione. How could I destroy her and her friends?

I love her, I do. It's so hard just saying that, admitting something that I have been denying for three years.

I have to do this.

I can't.

I won't.

I _have _to!

But I can always tell Him later! After all, Snape spent years spying on the Order of the Phoenix and this made his information even more valuable.

Yes…

I get up hastily, repeatedly telling myself that this is the right thing to do, that it doesn't matter what happens to them, that I have to survive. There's still a nagging voice in my mind, however, that insists that I'll probably never tell The Dark Lord about Hermione; that I'll just keep lying to Him…

I can't.

She wants to meet, I'll meet her.


	5. Hermione,

**Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter.**

**Chapter 5- Hermione**

_Hermione,_

_Are you sure about this? It's just... What you said, about us being enemies, it's true. What if I hex you or something? Aren't you scared? I do want to meet you but... I don't want to make you uncomfortable either._

_Ferret, _

_Meet me. You know where._

They sit together, disregarding the slowly lightening sky. He plays with her hair, running it gently through his fingers. She lies contentedly in his arms, relishing the warmth he brings. Occasionally they sigh and whisper to each other words with little meaning.

He has to go soon.

She should be getting back.

It shouldn't be like this.

But it is. Their first meeting and already they are close. She'd thought it would be so difficult, he'd thought it would be awkward… It hadn't been.

'Draco?' she mutters, her eyes half closed.

'Mmm?'

'What just happened?'

Draco sits up, his expression suddenly serious. She looks up at him, twisting round to see his face fully.

'We kissed.'

'I liked it.'

'Me too.'

'What are we going to do about it?'

'Kiss again?'

She glances down to their intertwined hands. His palm feels smooth in hers, her palm fitting perfectly in his. She can't believe she'd never held his hand before. How stupid had they been in Hogwarts? She wants to feel the touch of his lips on hers again, but her brain, once again, gets in the way.

'Draco, we can't. You know we can't…'

Draco pulls his hand away. Hermione misses it.

'We can't kiss, we can't meet, we can't send each other letters, we can't love each other… But we do,' Draco says, a bitter edge to his voice. 'Why can't you just see that?'

'We're enemies!' Hermione screeches. 'In case you didn't notice…'

'Oh, yes, because you really go around holding your enemies' hand! You kissed me, Granger, and I kissed you. Surely that _means _something!'

They're standing now, yelling as quietly as possible.

'Why did you kiss me though? I'm just a pathetic Mudblood to you!'

'Now _that _was out of order.'

'Oh, really? Tell me, Malfoy, how many Muggles have you killed? Mudbloods? Half bloods? What did you do to get in the Death Eater circles? Torture a few random people?' She's crying now.

It's like a slap in the face.

He recoils slightly. So Hermione was lying when she told him she believed him? He wasn't the only Slytherin here tonight.

'But of course… Perfect Granger, horrified at the thought of killing! Didn't it ever occur to you that Precious Potter and Wonderful Weasley were going to have to kill Death Eaters and come face to face with Voldemort? And of course you forgot that you yourself will have to destroy lives, many of whom will be your classmates?'

'If I _do _kill Death Eaters, I'll make sure you'll be on that list somewhere! And here's Mr- Lower-My-Wand! You're even more reluctant to murder than I am!'

'Don't talk about things you don't understand,' Draco snarls.

'Harry was there! He saw it all! You can't deny any of it…' Hermione trails off.

She realises all that she has just said. She realises it may be too late to apologise.

So she does the only thing she can think of that may actually work.

(A/N: Make him tea? Clean his shoes?)

It's the slightest of contact, but enough to send electricity up her spine. His eyes close automatically and she kisses him again.

Again…

His arms are wrapped behind her waist, making her feel secure. Her arms encircle his neck, drawing him closer to safety and danger.

Now they just clutch each other tightly. Holding on…

He mumbles to her words meant for her and her only. She does the same.

They slowly break apart. He leaves.

Hermione turns her back.

'You can come out now.'

**A/N: Ridiculously short chapter, I know, but it seemed to work that way. I hope you're satisfied anyhow. I always try to make chapters over 1000 words, whatever the cost, but I couldn't with this one. Sorry! Pllleeeassse review please! You see, reviews spur me on to update, whatever they say. But especially if they are nice lol.**


	6. Fidelus

**Disclaimer: You know it, I don't own it.**

**Chapter 6- Fidelus**

_Hermione,_

_Let's forget it, OK? I'm guessing you only kissed me to apologise for everything you said. It was sudden, and I reacted to it badly..._

_I may have fallen in love with you at Hogwarts, but I did explain to you that I locked my love away and it all but died down. I fell in love with the Hermione in the letters, but now that I have had a chance to rethink my feelings for you I realise that it's only friendship I want. _

_Something's telling me you feel the same way._

_I talk to you to escape; escape from the complexities of my life with something more normal. But for us to have a relationship would be completely abnormal and it would basically ruin everything. Besides, I would probably find it even more difficult to hide all this from The Dark Lord. I don't even know why He is keeping me alive. The slightest thing could tip the balance._

_If you don't feel this way then...I'm sorry. It's for the best that we stay apart. There is more at stake here than even you and I can comprehend, the danger is far too great to get so involved. _

_Let's forget it._

_As always,_

_Ferret._

Hermione breathed a sigh of relief upon finishing Draco's letter. She felt the same way too. Her main task was to defeat Voldemort, and this she did knowing the risks. With her and Draco things were more intangible and uncertain. They were on opposing sides in a brutal war; they couldn't be friends and definitely not lovers.

Reaching for her bag to find some parchment, Hermione mulled over her exact reasons for kissing him and what she should do now.

_Ferret,_

_Forget what?_

_Hermione._

_P.S. Maybe we shouldstart again? Perhaps we could slo-_

"Go away, Ron! Stop trying to read my personal letters!"

Hermione covered her letter from Ron's prying eyes. She'd barely been able to read Draco's note for fear of either of the boys seeing it.

"I have every right to see it, Hermione. You've put us all in danger. How do I know you haven't been giving away our information? Haven't you ever thought Malfoy could be spying on us? You are so _stupid_! What possessed you to write back anyway? I can't believe you'd betray us like that," Ron retorted.

"I've already explained to you what happened, Ronald. I can't believe you'd think I'd ever give away anything! I know he's our enemy, but… He doesn't agree with what V-Voldemort's doing. He's not… Oh, Ron, you know he isn't a killer!"

"Do I, Hermione? Do I really?"

Hermione looked helplessly at Harry. He was observing her and Ron's argument as if watching paint dry. Clearly, he'd already made his mind up, and it certainly wasn't in Hermione's favour. Harry hadn't spoken to her once since her and Draco's meeting...

_As soon as Draco had disapparated, Hermione turned towards the place where she, Harry, and Ron were staying._

"_You can come out now," she said, steeling herself for the ordeal she would now have to go through._

_Harry and Ron burst out from their hiding place, their faces livid with rage. Clearly, they had worked out exactly what was going on and weren't happy about it_

"_How long?" Ron shouted. "How long have you been seeing the bastard?"_

"_Ron…" Hermione began, trying to explain herself._

"_Answer my fucking question!" Ron interrupted._

"_About two months…" Hermione mumbled. "But this is the first time we've met! Before we only talked through letters."_

"_I don't give a shit about how you've talked to him! All I want to know is WHY?" _

_Hermione didn't know the answer to that one. _

"_Ron… Harry… I don't think I could explain it…"_

"_We have all night. I'm all ears."_

"_Why did you kiss him?" Harry asked her, clenching his fists. This was the first time he'd spoken._

"_I… I'd said some mean things and I didn't know how to apologise. I just did the one thing that came to mind. And before that it was just… I don't know, OK? We just kissed, that's all."_

"_That's all?" asked Ron incredulously. Evidently, he was having trouble accepting it._

"_If you must know, I only kissed him to spite you!" Hermione screamed, losing her temper. "Why the hell did you follow me? I have a right to privacy! I knew you were there and I was annoyed so I thought of the only way I could get revenge."_

"_That's so immature! You don't have a right to privacy if it concerns us, as it most definitely does! I bet you liked it, Hermione, I bet you absolutely loved rubbing it in our faces," Ron shot back._

"_Oh, yes, because it wasn't exactly the same with Lavender! At least _I _didn't eat Malfoy's face off! You're such a hypocrite!"_

"_So you admit that this was about me? You were so jealous that you snogged that murdering bastard to get retribution? Yeah, way to go Mudblood!" Ron sneered._

"_So when you played tonsil tennis with Lavender it was OK but as soon as I give someone a peck I'm immature? I never followed you and Lavender to all those secret passages and empty classrooms, did I? And don't you dare call me a Mudblood!"_

"_Oh, so sorry Granger, I just thought maybe that did it for you! You like it when he says it, so why not me?"_

"_He doesn't call me that any-"_

"_We only shadowed you because we were worried," Harry interrupted bitterly. "Obviously, we didn't need to be. The ferret has you wrapped around his little finger." With that, Harry stalked away._

He walked away now, too. It was time to move on.

Hermione reluctantly followed them. Somehow, she'd have to try to mend their broken friendship. But for now, the Horcruxes came first. Hermione smiled sadly to herself as Ron and Harry travelled further into the distance; at least there was something to keep the three of them together.

She traipsed behind, wondering where they were off to.

Draco's letter lay embedded in the mud, forgotten.

000

I sit bolt upright, my heart gradually slowing to its normal pace. My left arm burns painfully and I know that He is calling me.

I look at the throbbing, evil mark disfiguring my arm and think about the reasons I became a Death Eater and their repercussions. It was mainly to shield my family, which didn't work. How many times have I tried to protect people and failed? The other reasons, I suppose, were selfish. I wanted the glory and rewards my father often boasted of. At that time, admiration was what I craved. I still had no idea how hard it would be in the ranks. With Lucius in Azkaban, there was no one to guide me and I failed.

Failure has led me to where I am now. I need to make a decision in the next few seconds before I apparate to meet Him.

It's difficult, but so is everything and I have to fight it. I make my decision. It's for the best.

With a crack, my fate is decided and I kneel at His feet.

"Have you advanced any further in your task, Malfoy?"

"Yes, My lord. I can tell you where they are."

**A/n: So, so sorry if you didn't like this. But that's the way it is. This chapter goes to Haley. Infinitely Weird. for giving me an idea! Thanks! Thanks to all my other reviewers too. You guys rule.**


	7. The Thunder Breaks

Disclaimer: All things Harry Potter belong to J.K.Rowling.

**Chapter 7- The Thunder Breaks**

It's not been easy and painless, getting close to her. First of all, there was the enmity between us: she may be forgiving but her heart isn't that soft. After all, I did antagonise her for nearly six years of her life. Then, there was the fact that I'm not exactly the redeemable type, neither am I a particularly skilled actor. In all accounts, I have so far done well: the Dark Lord is pleased with my efforts and achievements; she is obviously convinced; and I have a very good feeling about my mission. Furthermore, I was completely successful with setting up our first little meeting just so Potter and Weasel could walk in on us at the exact same time that we _kissed_. And how just thinking that repulses me. Still, some sacrifices are worth it, even ones with such a disturbing and disgusting effect. I am sure that Potter and Weasel did not welcome the idea of me and that poor, polluted, predictable Mudblood together on such a dark night. I can just imagine their reactions: "Why the hell did you kiss the bastard?" and "Never talk to him again!" I am equally sure that the little Whore is so far gone and under such an impression of an innocent, romantic, sweet, sensitive Draco Malfoy that never questions her and utterly understands her that she won't believe her friends when they tell her I'm a lying, evil ferret. How right they are, how wrong she is. And If I could manage hoodwinking _her_, then I can certainly manage what I am about to do.

She doesn't stand a chance.

* * *

"Stop talking to him and you can come with us. If you can't even do that then I no longer count you as my friend," Harry said coldly. 

"But…Harry I…" Hermione trailed off in shock.

"What's it going to be, Hermione? Malfoy or us? A murderous Death Eater or your best friends?" There was still that indifferent look in Harry's eyes, and Hermione, for the first time in their conversation, suddenly knew that Harry meant every word he said. If she didn't break off all ties with the one person who kept her sane then she would risk losing her friendship with Harry and Ron forever.

"I don't…Harry what do you mean I can't be your friend?" She had to clarify; maybe she'd gotten the wrong end of the stick.

Hermione turned at the sound of humourless laughter behind her. It was Ron, smiling a smile that didn't reach his eyes.

"I would have thought that would've been obvious," he said.

Hermione nodded slowly. _I'll have to do what they say,_ she thought miserably. Holding back tears, she looked between her two best friends and said softly, "Can I just say goodbye?"

Harry and Ron shared a glance, and then nodded their assent.

"We can't promise not to follow you, though."

"I don't expect you can," Hermione conceded.

Then, twirling around to the surrounding milieu, she ran quickly away and out of sight.

And Harry and Ron could have sworn they heard her say goodbye.

* * *

_I think I'm finally working my way back into society. They certainly weren't too pleased when they heard that I had fought with the Order of the Phoenix at Hogwarts; they saw it as a betrayal. I am lucky to still be alive. _

_But as I was saying, I am finally being accepted once more, so maybe my part here shall be useful after all._

_Although, I may not be able to get in touch with you for a while; Fenrir Greyback is obviously having me watched for any other signs of duplicity, which certainly restricts my spying capability._

_Despite this, I shall be contacting you as soon as possible, news or no, so look out for my letter._

_R. J. Lupin. _

* * *

"Hermione, what is it?" I ask her sweetly. Even with her busy hair covering much of her face I can tell that something is wrong; the tears in her wide eyes are clear against her skin. 

"It's…"she hesitates, evidently debating whether to tell me or not. Then, shaking her head, she motions for me to sit down beside her.

"You can tell me," I say, placing a comforting arm gently around her shoulders.

And, after a moment, she does.

* * *

"It is ready, my Lord. I have fulfilled your wishes." Bellatrix knelt in front of the tall, thin man before her, speaking in respectful tones and inside revelling in the satisfaction she received having done her duty. Her Lord would surely be pleased that she had cast the spell correctly. 

A ghost of a smile appeared on Voldemort's features, but all he said was: "Very well, Black. It seems you have some redeeming qualities after all. Perhaps I shall keep you in my service for a while longer. If you can prove your loyalty to me further, the rewards will be far greater. Now, Death Eaters, leave. Go swiftly to your positions. If you fail, I shall know."

One by one the Death Eaters _a__pparated_ away and left Voldemort standing by a cracked and aged mirror, tainted by a crusted burgundy substance leaking from its corners. Voldemort turned his red, gleaming eyes towards the mirror and it instantly shattered into a million pieces, smashing violently to the ground, the shards creating a jagged surface that coated the earth.

"Yes...let the thunder begin."

* * *

Rain pounds fiercely down upon the roof, creating a sort of groaning noise as the magic holding the tunnels in place is strained against the harsh winds and the pelting torrent of water from the storm. 

That's probably the third worst thing about living here (the first and second, of course, being the way that I am treated by my kind, and the awful smell, respectively); the sound of the rain and thunder could drive anyone mad.

When the Order of the Phoenix put me back in here, they warned me that my task would be gruelling, demanding and intense. It would take everything I had to give, and more.

Now that I am finally beginning to find my feet, despite the events at Hogwarts, I feel that the worst is probably over. The other inhabitants of this dismal place aren't trying to kill me anymore, which is always a good sign. Still, the actions of Fenrir Greyback and his cronies these past few months…

I turn towards my home here, but before I can advance any further and escape the unbearable sound of thunder and continuous thud of raindrops as they hit the roof of the tunnels, a hand grabs my shoulder and pushes my back against the wall. My throat begins to close up as the hand grasps my neck. I have barely enough room to breathe.

"Lupin."

Even though my foe is shrouded in darkness, I instantly recognise the voice as that of Fenrir Greyback.

"You should watch your back. The tunnels are no place for traitors… speaking of traitors, I know about your communication with the Order of the Phoenix. Whatever would the Dark Lord say if he knew that _you _were skulking around? And in my territory, no less.

"Of course, there may be a chance that I won't tell him. I cannot guarantee what the others of our kind will do, though: they've been getting very restless recently, and I can't fully control them. You see, they don't like the thought of filth living among them.

"Still, you have a chance at saving your own skin. Do what I say, and I can help you. You don't want me as your enemy, do you?

"I have the Order under watch, and at one word I can have them ripped to shreds. I know all about you, Lupin, I can cause you pain. Assist me, and I won't harm your friends. Or your child…"

* * *

"Maybe you should stay away-" 

"Draco, no! I could never leave you."

"I don't want to put you in danger. If the Dark Lord found out you were here… I would never forgive myself for risking your life."

She smiles up at me, her hand gently stroking my cheek and I shudder, though why I have no idea. Maybe I am so disgusted by the Mudblood that I can't even touch her without my body reacting, or perhaps it is the rain soaking into our clothes through the thin, meagre shelter we have managed to find.

"I know you want to protect me, but I'd be in just as much jeopardy if I had continued to journey with Harry and Ron. Wherever I go I am in mortal peril, but I feel safest with you," Hermione says, her eyes shining.

After a few moments of silence in which I celebrate, I turn my head to look her straight in the eyes. "I love you," I whisper quietly, and she chuckles and pushes her head against my chest, shivering in the cold and bitter wind.

"I thought you just wanted to be friends?" she asks, raising her voice to be heard against the thunder erupting around us.

"You confuse me, Hermione. When I am with you I want to be yours and I want you to be mine and when I hold you I don't want to ever let go but when we are apart I become unsure. But I do know one thing and that is that I love you. I've been trying to deny it for years, I've been completely delusional and, yes, I have told you before, but I've never told you the full truth.

"I love you more than I can express, I don't think I could ever show you the way I love you, just how much…" I trail off, hoping she believes me.

"I believe you, Draco, and… oh, it's stupid, perplexing, and it doesn't make any sense but… well... I think I'm beginning to love you too."

I close my eyes for a second and kiss her forehead lightly which, again, causes me to tremble slightly. Hermione, sensing this, glances around her at the still stormy sky.

* * *

"Where the hell is Hermione?" Ron shouted to Harry over the noise of the tempest. "She should have been back hours ago!" 

"Forget about her, I'm sure she'll come back soon. But for now we need to find shelter. Come on!" Harry replied loudly.

Ron, however, was not convinced. "Harry, she went to see _him. _She could be anywhere. She could be hurt. HERMIONE!" Ron called to his empty surroundings.

"Ron, we don't have time! She'll find shelter and I'm sure she has her wa- I've just found her wand. That means she doesn't have it…"

"Well we need to find her then!"

"It's too dangerous. We can't go out in this weather. We'll have to leave her and hope for the best. She's… well, she's made it clear that she can look after herself," Harry said, pocketing Hermione's wand. No matter what he had told her, he still cared about Hermione. They both did.

* * *

"I can see you shuddering. How much longer do you propose we huddle together and freeze to death? We need to get out of this storm." 

"You've finally noticed? I didn't want to say something, you seemed _so _comfortable. But I suppose… I know somewhere we can apparate to escape the bad weather."

I almost don't see her nod as the rain is obscuring much of her face, but when she takes my arm we both twist around on the spot and, with a crack, disappear.

* * *

The sky has cleared by the time that Harry and Ron peer out of the shelter that they had managed to find. A faint breath of wind blows through their ruffled, untidy hair, and an animal calls in the distance. 

As they walk back towards their original location, a cloak flutters down and lands in Ron's outstretched hands. The cloak belongs to Hermione, and it is covered in blood.

* * *

A/N: Sorry I knowit's been ages since I've updated... Stuff just piled up. But anyways for this chapter I would like to thank my wonderful beta Twice1203. Please please review! I won't be able to update for at least 2 weeks because I'm going on holiday, but hopefully after that updates will get faster. 


	8. Chapter 8

**Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter and co. It all belongs to Jo. **

**A/N: SO sorry for the long wait! Stuff piled up, I had the worst case of writer's block ever, and my beta told me she didn't want to beta this anymore. I'm looking for another beta, but this chapter is at the moment unbetad because I wanted to get it up as soon as I wrote it. My endless gratitude goes to ****1mAg1nE for her patient guidance and help, and I dedicate this to her. Sorry, once again, and I hope I haven't lost too many readers. As a repayment, here is my 6, 271 (approx) worded chapter, and, considering that my chapters are always under or just above 1,500 words, that's alot. Hopefully it's not alot of crap. Enjoy!  
**

* * *

They crept in quietly, the only noise made from their dark cloaks slithering on the worn stone ground and casting their faces in an impenetrable shadow. After scanning the area and judging it safe, they relaxed slightly and approached the bar, slowly meandering through the haphazard tables and eyes darting about frenetically. No one looked up: they had their own business to attend to and this was a busy inn, its customers regularly moving to and fro.

"What can I get you?" a gruff voice sounded over the other noise in the room as the two figures reached their destination.

"We won't need any refreshment tonight, Dionysos. We're looking to lodge here."

Dionysos, the barman, eyed them suspiciously, carefully scrutinising them for any sign of hostility. He didn't like strangers, even ones who presumed to know his name. It wasn't unusual, however, for patrons here to conceal their identity – in fact, most of them did so – but there was something very familiar about this man's voice….

Hearing a quick, repetitive tap to the left, he turned his vision away from the man towards his companion, who was now leaning against the bar and impatiently drumming it with a hand.

"The room," an obviously female voice said simply.

Dionysos looked fleetingly between them and finally said, "Number nineteen, only one I'm afraid – the rest are all taken."

Pulling their few belongings up behind them, the duo hiked up the two narrow flights of stairs that they had to climb in order to reach their designated quarters. It was a difficult journey marred by crumbling stone steps, with little light to see their way and the constant nervous tension that hung over them: would they be caught? Would someone recognise them? It was a possibility that neither of them wanted to face.

The room that they would lodge in was what you would usually expect from this sort of place; decent bedding that, fortunately, seemed to have been washed recently, and though it was greying and scratchy, things could have been a lot worse; two small nightstands on which to place a few possessions, though, to them both, this piece of furniture looked a little precarious; and a tiny window so grubby that little or no light could seep through, making it impossible to see out of.

Much to their relief, there were two reasonably sized beds, both of which looked as if they would not fall to pieces. Hermione sat down on one now, exhausted.

"Are you sure this place is safe?" The question was directed at her companion, who had just lowered his hood to reveal a pale, drained face. Instead of copying her actions and sitting down too, the man, Draco, moved to stand beside the window, his gaze remaining locked onto her own.

"There's no guarantee, but it's the safest place that I know of at the moment. If we just keep out of the way of the others and leave quickly, everything should be fine." He was reassuring himself as well as Hermione. "This is only temporary, after we leave… I don't know where we will go."

"And if they _do_ recognise us? What then?" Hermione challenged him, her anxiety becoming more evident the longer that they stayed.

Draco merely shrugged and turned away. How could she expect him to know all the answers? Wasn't she the one that had left Harry and Ron behind? _Stupid Mudblood, _Draco thought, though the words seemed to have a certain hollowness about them that had only ever been noticed by him. Everyone else had thought that he meant it; and he had, for prejudice was deeply ingrained in his conscious, yet in the case of Hermione, it had always been hard to hate her for what she was….

Hearing a wince from behind him, Draco ceased attempting to decipher the intricate patterns of dust on the window ledge and turned to see Hermione clutching her head delicately, trying to force the tears springing to the front of her eyes back.

"What is it?" Draco asked her suspiciously, narrowing his eyes and thinking that he knew all too well the cause of her pain.

"Nothing," she said, though it was clear to the both of them that it really wasn't.

She fainted.

* * *

A haziness enveloped Remus' thoughts as Lord Voldemort raised his wand. He had no idea if the two were connected, and, to be honest, he really didn't care at that moment; nothing else seemed to matter except for the beautiful, melodious voice telling him to go to London, Number 12, Grimmauld Place, where all his dreams would come true. 

No! Another, harsher, voice erupted from a deep, long-forgotten corner of his mind. It seemed to be trying to warn him of something - something bad - though he couldn't for the life of him recall the meaning of the word bad, or if indeed it was a word at all.

_You're under an _Imperious_! You're not in your right mind. You have to fight this, fight Voldemort!_

At the sound of that name, Remus' conscious begun to struggle violently against the curse that had been placed upon him; but Voldemort's magic was strong, and he himself was weak from being held in captivity for several days by the Death Eaters after refusing the Dark Lord's instructions.

_Break free, don't listen- no- no..._

The nice voice became even less resistible, and that lone insubordinate voice, one that sounded so like his own, was slowly fading, along with it the inclination to refuse leaving for Grimmauld Place to steal some very valuable items. Stealing – that word at least sounded familiar, and had a distinctly wrong taste about it. But what did wrong mean? What was his name again, anyway? Well, whoever he was, he obviously hadn't been in his right mind to believe that! Thievery was a wonderful thing; the voice had told him so.

_Why does any of this matter? You are mine now. You needn't worry about a thing with me here_….

He nodded. Everything would be OK. He would take the locket necklace from that house and give it to his… master. Yes, that was the word.

_I am pleased,_ the voice murmured quietly, and that made Remus feel as if he were walking on air.

Instead, he _apparated_.

* * *

Hermione woke up with Draco Malfoy in her face. 

"You're awake," he smirked, stating the obvious, more as a way to annoy her than anything else; he knew she hated it when people said what was clearly in front of them.

Knowing that he felt the same, Hermione opened her mouth to say words with similar effect, but all that came out was a faint whisper and another wave of dizziness.

Something flashed briefly in Draco's eyes. Concern.

"Why didn't you let me heal this before?" he demanded, annoyed.

Soon after they had _apparated_, they had come across steep, hard to climb ground. Traversing the hazardous landscape posed the biggest problem for Hermione. She was unfit and unused to the terrain, and having no idea where they were and not caring to ask added to the problem. Even out of the storm, it was still blustery and her bushy hair kept blowing in front of her face, obscuring her vision and inevitably causing her to fall. Hard.

Draco had stemmed the blood flow to the best of his ability, but the cloak he was pressing to her head had slipped from his hands and disappeared on the breeze earlier, making him unable to fix her when the healing spells failed and she refused to stop for him to transfigure something else to use.

Dazed, she had sat up, as she did now. The pounding in her head had lessened somewhat compared to the first time that she fell due to the curative spells that Draco had now cast upon the wound, but she still felt a little disorientated.

"Because," she began testily after several minutes of silence, "as you well know, healing spells always work better with the injured wizard or witches own wand, which unfortunately I have misplaced. That's why we use healing potions more."

"Very good, Miss Granger. And why, exactly, is that so?" He was teasing her, that much was obvious, but he had asked her a question which she was equipped to answer; how could she refuse?

Her inner know-it-all taking over, Hermione quickly forgot her pain and tried to recall what she had read about healing spells and potions in her third year.

"It's to do with everyone's own magical abilities," she answered patiently. "We all have distinctive magical signatures which we leave whenever we cast a spell. The wand chooses the wizard in order for the best compatibility with the magical energy, style, and competence level of that wizard, and they fuse together for the best results when casting spells. So, the wand and the wizard's body are attuned, and therefore the wizard or witch's own wand is far more powerful at healing the one it belongs to than at healing others. That's one of the main reasons why human transfiguration is so hard, and using your own wand is better than using someone else's."

"Well done, one hundred points to Gryffindor!" Draco said, full of sarcasm as ever.

She grimaced as pain shot up through her head again. Draco was mopping up the excess dried blood sticking to her forehead, and he wasn't being gentle about it.

"However," he continued haughtily after a few contemplative seconds. "I find it hard to believe that knowing any of that could be beneficial due to the fact that wizards and witches aren't generally disposed to lose or leave their wands behind." He stared meaningfully at her, one eyebrow raised, and she huffed, exasperated.

"You foolish girl!" he suddenly hissed, abruptly standing up and distancing himself from her. "You stupid little Mudblood!"

The atmosphere in the room perceptively changed. The air grew colder, and what had before been banter was fast turning sour.

"What if we became surrounded by Death Eaters, out of reach of any help? What if you were badly injured and I had no wand either? What if we were separated?"

The terrible onslaught of questions continued until Hermione realised that she had backed against the wall in fear. "S-stop!" she called out shakily.

He did, though not without an extra glare sent her way.

"I didn't deliberately leave my wand behind, I know the dangers. I was just upset! Not thinking straight!" She sounded childish and weak, she knew, but the excuses just poured out.

After staring at her intently for a moment, Draco continued to rant. "You did this on purpose, didn't you?"

"I – don't know what you mean…" Hermione lied, her cheeks turning pink in obvious discomfort.

"Yes, you do. You left it there so that Potter (he spat the name contemptuously) and Weasel could find it and keep it safe. And then you would force me to go back to them with you and then convince them that I was good and on your side! That I, Draco Malfoy, was a completely reformed character and _moral _and _kind _and out for _justice_. Well, guess what Granger – _I'm not. _Don't delude yourself."

Tears unwilling trickled down Hermione's cheeks and she furiously brushed them away. She would not let him see her cry. She would go downstairs, wash her sorrows away with something that was decidedly _not _alcoholic and hopefully gather the courage to leave.

Having the presence of mind to pull her cloak back on, the hood firmly eclipsing her face, Hermione opened the door, walked out, and slammed it behind her. She said nothing and didn't look back, leaving a still fuming Draco behind.

* * *

That insolent, manipulating wench! I cannot _believe _I fell for that! I should have known she only wanted my knowledge of Voldemort, not my company. _"I'm beginning to love you too." _ Way to play with a man's heart, Granger. But I know you didn't mean it. 

_Throw all the tantrums you want, but you're missing the most important detail here, _a bored voice drawls from the back of my mind.

Oh, yes? And what would that be?

_You've failed your mission, idiot. Forget about the Mudblood. It's not as if she won't go back to those two idiotic friends of hers. _She _means nothing, but Potter does._

She does mean something.

_Oh, yes? And what _would_ that be?_

If she didn't, I would have been instructed to kill her.

_She means nothing. The Dark Lord, however..._

Screw him.

_Pardon?_

I said, screw him. Screw him and his stupid missions. This isn't worth it.

_Whatever. Have it your way. Be tortured again. Die for something you don't believe in. _

The voice retreats, leaving me to brood. Leaving me to brood over her.

Just thinking back to what happened causes my old annoyance to flare up again and I am tempted to kick the wall in frustration. What was she thinking, believing that Potter, Weasel and I could ever be friends? Haven't I already explained to her that in no way am I prepared to join her side, that I can't? Doesn't she remember who I am? What I am? It's her fault for being so imprudent; all I did was state the truth. I didn't cause her to cry.

This time, I do kick the wall, and my yelps of pain drown out the slight whisper of the door opening and closing.

* * *

"Bad day?" Dionysos asked, placing a large goblet of fire whisky before the cloaked woman sitting at the bar in front of him. 

She nodded slightly, careful to keep the hood covering her face. "You could say that." Her voice held a strained quality about it, as if it cost her to speak at all; something conveyed the message that silence would be most appreciated.

She took a large gulp of her drink but immediately spat it out in disgust; she hadn't ordered fire whisky. "Is this whisky?" she spluttered.

"Britain's finest," Dionysos assured her, collecting a few abandoned glasses from around the room with a wave of his wand and wiping them clean one by one.

"Well, I didn't order it so-"

"Have it on the house," he insisted.

Pause.

"Oh, all right." She raised the glass once more to her lips and drank deeply, quickly becoming accustomed to the sharp taste.

"So what brought you round to these parts?" he asked casually, still wiping the glasses.

"That's not really any of your business," she replied stonily, and he didn't question her again: she wasn't drunk enough yet to volunteer any information that might be useful to him or any of his many contacts; contacts who would be very interested indeed in the exact reasons for the great Hermione Granger and Draco Malfoy's presence at his little tavern. Oh, yes. Dionysos knew who they were. It wasn't as if he would ever pass up any little snippet of information that his tenants could give him, even if it meant spying on them in the privacy of their rooms. Although you would think Malfoy would be shrewd enough to keep his wits about him; after all, Draco knew better than anyone that this inn was home to many a Death Eater and ally to Voldemort.

While Dionysos was filing away his "little snippet" for later use, Hermione wasn't feeling as calm as she pretended. Inside, she was a torrent of emotions, depression and fatigue predominant among them. She couldn't even summon the energy to be angry at Malfoy, and that was saying something. Only a dull resentment worked its way through to her frenzied thoughts. _How dare he! Calling me Mudblood and criticising me for everything I do! Of course, nothing's ever good enough for him, is it? He tells me he loves me, then he wants to be friends, but what he said today certainly didn't show that. Harry and Ron would never tolerate it. If only they were here_….

A wave of homesickness washed over her and she wished for nothing more than to be at home with her parents, sitting by the warm fire, curled up on a chair and reading a worn, dusty tome. But that was cowardly; she was here now and she had to find and destroy the Horcruxes, with Draco for company or not. She had to ignore the feelings of heart-break and concentrate on what was best for the world, and not just her selfish wants and needs.

Taking another swig of her whisky, Hermione sighed self-piteously. "It's his fault really," she muttered quietly. _Why did he send me that letter in the first place? Everything would be so much less complicated. It would just be me, Ron and Harry again. Like it always has been. Like it always should be. _

Finding her glass empty, Hermione started to call Dionysos over to her for another whisky, but before she could speak even one word her arm was grabbed painfully and someone began to pull her towards the exit.

* * *

Have you ever had the feeling of being watched? When the hairs on the back of your neck stand up, and a chill runs down your spine. When you turn around and someone is there, someone that you hadn't known was there until that moment. When you thought you were alone with only your thoughts but you weren't. 

I have that now. In fact, the manor in which I grew up in was never safe from prying eyes: each of its maze-like corridors were dotted with spy-holes and rich in detective spells, each of its empty, cavernous rooms connected to other parts of the house so that anyone could walk in on you without alerting you to their presence. You could never go anywhere without my father's permission; if you did you would most certainly be caught.

So the sensation of eyes boring into my back is not unknown to me. And it's quite obvious who else is in the room. I couldn't mistake his aura anywhere.

"Father," I say simply, more as a statement than a question.

Hearing the swish of an invisibility cloak falling to the ground, I turn around to look at the man whom I once revered and hero-worshipped.

"I assume that you know why I am here," he replies in a similar curt fashion. More as a statement than as a question.

"Ahhh, but Father, why so serious? I am your son, am I not? We have not met for months. Please, sit," I say, the intonation of my voice one that is generally reserved for hosts to guests. I gesture vaguely to my bed and notice the slight disgusted wrinkle of his nose.

Merely raising an eyebrow mockingly, he makes no move to obey my instructions.

"You know that is not what I am here for. You also know that I am impervious to distractions. My visit here shall be brief and our… conversation to the point. The Mudblood may come back at any moment, and I very much doubt she would appreciate you any more than she does currently if she interrupted our little meeting. And wouldn't that be a shame?" he sneers, particularly at the mention of Hermione.

_Bastard. _The thought appears in my mind suddenly, without consideration; automatically. Then, also unwillingly, _I wonder if I look like that when I call her a Mudblood? Am I so like my father? _

"Talking to yourself?" he drawls, cutting through my ponderings. For a second, I can't understand what he means, but then I remember: Occlumency. Quickly, I push down all stray thought and force my face to mirror his in its blank, unemotional aloofness.

Glaring, I move further away from him towards the door, my back never facing his.

"Be careful, Draco. The Dark Lord is not at all pleased with your performance." For every one of my steps, he takes another, his movements graceful and practiced.

"I came here as a warning, as you may have gathered. If you do not continue with the Dark Lord's instructions, the Death Eaters stationed downstairs will kill her themselves. Not after mercilessly torturing her and luring her little friends to rescue her first, of course. Problem solved. And if you don't want that to happen, I would advise you to find her _now_ and cease your pointless dilly-dallying. Hurry…."

Smirking, Lucius leaves as suddenly as he came; one minute his smug, proud self stood before me and the next I am left in his wake, pale hands shaking as I struggle to pick up our belongings.

* * *

Rummaging through Mundungus Fletcher's things was not the most pleasant of experiences, Remus Lupin concluded wearily. After several hours of probing the jumble of items that Mundungus routinely carried with him, Remus had still failed to acquire the object he so fruitlessly sought: Salazar Slytherin's locket necklace, otherwise known as one of Voldemort's lost Horcruxes. 

Stiffening slightly upon hearing the sound of the front door opening, Remus perked his ears up for any notable distinctions that could betray who the newest occupant of Grimmauld Place was. The footsteps were too heavy to be female, and there was no evidence of a limp, so that ruled out any women and Moody; Charlie was once again in Egypt attempting to recruit more Order of the Phoenix members, but how successful he had been so far Remus did not know; Bill, having recovered, was somewhere with Fleur after their rushed marriage; and most others that he could recall were all away, undertaking tasks in aid of the resistance. That only left Mundungus, a potential threat seeing as Remus was currently going through his possessions and systematically hunting for a very valuable piece.

It was Mundungus. A Mundungus left quite indignant after "some bastard" scammed him out of his gold. So when he found his belongings scattered around the floor of his room with a guilty Remus standing next to the chaos, he wasn't in a particularly forgiving mood.

"Remus? What you doing 'ere?" he asked, not without a trace of surprise.

"Well, I-"

"Tonks isn't here, in case you're wondering," Mundungus cut him short before Remus could volunteer a satisfactory explanation.

Back at his hideout, Voldemort snarled petulantly. He was running out of patience with the werewolf, and without Nagini to feed him (she was out hunting) his strength was steadily depleting. Even for a Dark Lord, using the _Imperious _curse for long periods of time is tiring. And the werewolf himself was tiring. Deciding to take a more direct, offensive manner, Voldemort summoned all of his energy to enforce his control over Lupin more than ever.

"I have a reason for being here. There is a reason for my delving into your personal effects, and there is a reason why I must ask a favour of you. All of these reasons are very serious," Remus began, much more effectively this time.

"I'm waiting, Lupin," Mundungus growled, inching closer to Lupin in case the man decided to make a grab for whatever it was that he was after and escape. Glowering at the man opposite, Mundungus crossed his arms as Remus started to speak.

"I require an item that I believe is in your possession. It's a locket, an antique, which you must have acquired some time ago as it resided in this very house, where I understand you stole several of Harry's things. You then sold these objects to some of your shadier contacts and kept all of the gold for yourself." Lupin smirked at the last sentence, knowing that he could very well land Mundungus in it if he lodged an official complaint; naturally, everyone was aware of his dealings, but they did nothing to benefit the Order and Remus could easily highlight this….

Mundungus gulped, but was not about to give in. First off, the locket in question was an _exceptionally _valuable piece, one that he had only today arranged an appointment with Borgin in Knockturn Alley to negotiate over. Second of all, this was not the Remus he was acquainted with. This was just not Remus Lupin.

"Ahhh, see, about that. I sold it ages ago, so's you'd 'av to find it again. No guarantee they'd sell it to you neither," he finally said, though his nervousness relayed itself into his voice and it came out sounding like the falsity it was.

Remus advanced towards him slowly, taking his time. _Definitely not him, _Mundungus assured himself. The real Remus would never act like this. _So who is it? _

"Come, now. We both know that's not true. Why would you have sold such a priceless piece so soon? I am quite aware that you tend to hang on to the more precious items for longer, to bribe the buyers, as it were. Really, my request is quite reasonable. You realise that I am unable to inform you of the reasons for my demand, but it's all for the good."

"Well, I-" It was Mundungus' turn to be interrupted.

"It's in your pocket," Remus said confidently, as if he had known all along.

Before he could comprehend his situation, Mundungus found himself backed against the wall, a wand at his throat and a curse on the tip of Remus Lupin's tongue. Lupin was dangling the locket on its chain, vigilantly inspecting it for any damage or disguise. Satisfied, he tucked it firmly away and looked into Mundungus' eyes, blazing with such a staggering intensity that Mundungus recognised the eyes locked into his own. _Voldemort,_ the crook's last worldly thought before he went rigid and pale, plummeting to the cold, hard floor of an empty room.

Miles away, Voldemort chuckled amusedly to himself. _That's one less rat on the earth. Now, for the rest of those vermin_….

* * *

Harry and Ron staggered wearily through the last of the woodland, having proceeded to their destination after Hermione's continued absence. They figured that if she came back she would be intelligent enough to make her way here, their meeting point if they became separated. 

Harry glanced over to where they should be going, and Ron followed his gaze. Silence. There was only emptiness where houses and people should have been. They had come here for nothing. They had been wrong. Another failure. Another clue and a dead end to go with it.

They slumped down to the ground, the picture of defeat. Not caring where they landed.

It began to rain.

* * *

Before she could stop herself, Hermione cried out in pain. Whoever had seized her arm was strong; it would bruise soon and despite her furious attempts to escape her assailant's clutches, she was almost being dragged along. 

"Get – off – me!" she screeched wildly and extricated herself from the person's iron grip. But he had all ready relinquished his hold on her and she fell backwards and would have hit the floor if her assaulter had not rushed forwards and caught her at the last moment.

Sighing with relief when she realised that it was not some stranger or Death Eater but Draco, she tried to escape his arms. But he didn't let go this time. She could see his pallid, clearly worried face peering down at her from under his hood.

"We have to get out of here," he whispered, his warm breath tickling her ear.

Hermione pushed him away angrily.

"Excuse me? Who are you to order me around? I will stay here for as long as I wish, whether you like it or not!" she hissed.

"We have to get out of here," he repeated, refusing to rise to her bait. "_Now_." Making for her arm again, he reined his temper in. Arguing would waste time, and time was a commodity they were not in great supply of.

Slapping Draco's hand away, Hermione decided that now _was _a time for arguing. _Who does he think he is? _"You, Draco Malfoy, are a stuck-up, pretentious, selfish pig!" she screamed, no longer caring who heard.

It was a signal that the Death Eaters stationed around the room had been anticipating. Obviously, the pair didn't seem likely to leave too soon, and that just _wouldn't _do. No, the Malfoy brat was certainly not going about his orders properly – touching a Mudblood and letting her overpower him? Their Lord would most definitely be notified of this unfortunate development.

Spanning out into a phalanx around the duo, the Death Eaters all drew their wands with a collective _swish _and began their attack.

Hermione, ire controlling her, did not notice any of this as she persisted in asserting her rights to be independent of one Draco Malfoy.

"… And don't think I'll come back, either! I intend to stay and leave when I want. I don't give a damn about your company. Furthermore, may I just ask _why _you-"

Placing a palm over Hermione's open mouth, Draco leaned over to whisper in her ear again. "I think I understand what you are getting at here. But may I just ask what you _intend _to do about the bloodthirsty Death Eaters pointing their wands at us?"

Gasping, her eyes wide in fear, Hermione tilted her head in the direction Draco was looking in. Sure enough, there were her enemies, their deathly white masks pointed straight at her.

"Y- you d-d-idn't," she stuttered uneasily, hoping that was true.

"No, Granger," he chuckled wryly. "I would stand nothing to gain from such an act."

"But – you hate me," she persisted, all the while watching the Death Eaters for any signs of readiness to curse them.

"No, I don't hate you. How many times do I have to tell you?"

"Yeah, yeah, you _love _me, right? Please, don't give me that. You don't know how to love, especially not a filthy Mudblood like me," she said without a trace of bitterness. She wasn't even sure of her feelings anymore: was this all just a dream? _Of course it is, _ she thought as Draco cast a protective shield charm around them. _I'll wake up and- _

"_Crucio_!" screamed a Death Eater at the front of the group as she tore off her mask to reveal a face sallower than Draco's and twisted in rage.

Bellatrix Lestrange was here.

The spell itself pierced right through the shield charm and it burst apart, leaving them completely unprotected, but Draco had cast another one already and was frantically belting out spells of his own.

Snapping out of her reverie, Hermione forced herself to remember that it never _was _a dream and hadn't been for years; in so doing she also recalled her missing wand and switched to battle mode, glancing around the room, searching for any way out or something that they could call to their aid to distract their opponents and escape.

She was just about to call to Draco to alert him of something when the shield charm once again caved in and they had to duck into a small alcove, just about dodging a burst of purple light that caused the part of the wall she had been standing against mere seconds before to explode violently.

"Couldn't you use another shield?" she shouted above the noise of the battle.

"It's the only one suitable," he replied, obviously irritated at his own failure and her having no wand to help him.

"Why not just perform the conventional charm?" she asked curiously.

"It only affects one person. If I did that, one of us would be out in the open. It might be stronger, but the risks outweigh the gain. I'll just have to keep using this one…" he trailed off before firing a quick succession of curses that even she had never heard of into the settling dust.

The shield charm that Draco was using was, in fact, quite powerful, Hermione mused. The only problem that he was having was that for the shield to achieve full potential and become worthy of the amount of magical energy needed to create and keep it up, he would need at least two other people casting it with him. She could vividly recall the few sessions in which they had covered the spell in the DA in their fifth year when they had attempted to cast it singularly and see how long it would take for the shield to break under a barrage of different curses from every other DA member. They had made the caster continue to do this multiple times until they could no longer summon enough energy to use the shield. Judging by the increasingly pale protective screen around them, Draco was tiring extremely quickly, and before long he would fail. The process was accelerated further by the fact that the curses the Death Eaters were attacking them with were far more potent and powerful than a mere bat bogey hex.

Steeling herself and knowing exactly what it was she needed to do, Hermione turned to Draco, smiled sadly at him, kissed him on the cheek and rolled out into the midst of the enemy itself.

"Cover for me, I won't be long," she told him briefly, and could have sworn she heard him murmur something about "Bloody Gryffindors," as she left, but that could have been her imagination.

Still, it was a comforting that even in the thick of danger he could still retain some of his Slytherin beliefs about Gryffindor bravery.

Creeping near the shadows under the bar to the place near the stairs where Draco had propped their bags, Hermione clung on to the desperate hope that she hadn't left the item she needed now on the dresser at home. If she had, or she wasn't able to access the bags, then they'd have to go on to Plan B: run like hell.

There they were, right up ahead, untouched since Draco had last held them. _Thank Goodness. _Reaching out for them, she grabbed the handles in her hands and made to hurry back to implement her plan.

But her way was blocked. Blocked by a woman sneering down at her, her mask torn off, sallow face twisted in rage and mockery.

Trying to back off posed a problem, too, for not only was Bellatrix monitoring her every move, she had also been covertly stalking towards Hermione and making her unconsciously slide away. Her back was touching the worn stone wall behind her now, and she could see Bellatrix speaking. Trying to focus on the woman's speech instead of her own frightened, muddled thoughts of death and defeat, Hermione forced down her fear and made to stand.

"My traitorous nephew can't save you now, Mudblood," Bellatrix sneered cruelly. "You are all alone and _he's _surrounded by the other Death Eaters. Lucius was about to finish him off when I realised that you were missing and went off to search for you. Lucky I did, really, because you wouldn't ha-"

Her snide ramblings were cut off as she yelped and tried to dodge a stray spell. By the time she could manage to get up, Hermione had all ready headed out into the chaos.

---------

Running, running, panting with the effort and the stitch in her side.

Running still, dodging, running, panting, forcing images of Draco dying away and trying to navigate her way through the suddenly large room.

Trying to get back to him in time.

Jumping over tables, through the rubble, running, running, running, twisting, flying through the air and getting up and running, running, falling again, trying to run-

Trapped.

"Tag, you're it."

Bellatrix again. Raising her wand.

Kicking up, up, and Bellatrix clutches her shin in pain.

Running again. To freedom. With the bags.

Sneaking under the bar back to him and he's there, keeping them at bay.

---------

"Draco," Hermione panted as he shielded them both again. "I have the bags," she tried again, holding up the bags as evidence.

Rummaging through her own, she cursed quietly at her slowness. Hermione could see how exhausted he was, knew they were running out of time, but she was just so tired….

"Got it! Peruvian Darkness Powder," she said excitedly, holding up a jar of the black soot-like substance."

"Granger, I can see what you plan to do, having done so myself, but there's only one problem: we won't be able to see either. I haven't got my Hand of Glory with me, so unless you have some other way… _Petrificus Totalis_!" The spell was directed at a Death Eater attempting to destroy their shield. He went rigid as a board and fell to the floor, but almost as soon got up again; Draco's magic was waning.

"Give me your wand!" Hermione snapped and took it out of his hands. "We can create a luminous trail through to the door that only we can see in order to escape. We can also disillusion and silence ourselves, just in case." Doing so in a matter of seconds, Hermione looked at him and silently asked the question: _Are you ready?_

"As I'll ever be," he said quietly, although of course she couldn't hear him.

Taking a pinch of the powder, Hermione flung it into the air, and before the Death Eaters knew what was happening, the blackness enveloped the air so intensely that even with their trail Draco and Hermione were momentarily blinded. Recovering quickly, the two cautiously followed the trail and emerged from the ruined building.

Years later, Hermione could not recall how they had made it out of their alive, or even apparated at all. She never talked about how they had stood there then, gazing down at their entwined hands, neither daring to let go.

* * *

**A/N: Good? Bad? Please tell me. Anyway, once again, I'm requesting some help from you guys... Do any of you have any ideas about where the remaining Horcruxes should be? You can probably tell that I'm completely at a loss, so if you do suggest somewhere that you have been/live, could you perhaps leave some information about the places too? I'll probably do research, but anything you have to offer would definitely be welcome. Sorry... And thanks again if you stuck with this. I won't make any promises abut updates, but I won't abandon this story and I'll try not to leave it so long again **


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